


Warm with You

by Xyriath



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breakfast, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I got cavities writing this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 02:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: Over lazy mornings, delicious breakfasts, and idle games of footsie, one thing remains constant:The war over the thermostat will continue.





	Warm with You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fishingclocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingclocks/gifts).



> As a reward for a bribe, a friend of mine requested McHanzo + happiness, so, uh, have my first Overwatch fic with a fuckton of schmoop? Enjoy!

As Jesse McCree’s bones creaked, as he shivered, as he winced when his feet touched the cold floor, he thought he might be getting too old for this.

Yes, he had been doing it for decades.  And yes, there was something to be said for waking early enough to get your hands on every scrap of sunlight you could, in the winter months.  It wasn’t even that _early_ , not to see and enjoy the sunrise.

But it _was_ goddamned cold, and about an act of god to pull himself out of the warm bed, with his warm husband wrapped around him, and drag himself into the comparatively freezing air of their shared apartment.  He should really adjust that thermostat while Hanzo was asleep; he had always insisted that they could _save money_ by keeping it low when sleeping.  Jesse, who had grown up in a place with reasonably warm winters and not a place where it did obscene things like snow regularly, didn’t give a rat’s ass.

But still, he dragged himself up out of the bed, threw on his fleece pajamas—Hanzo still gave him a hard time about the plaid print, but Jesse suspected he secretly thought it cute—and shoved his feet into some slippers, then made a detour for the thermostat before Hanzo woke enough to spot him.  Jesse never had been one for Celsius, but he was pretty sure that twenty degrees was obscene, so he punched the “up” button several times.  Hanzo might suspect something was up once he noticed neither of them had icicles forming on their beards, but until then, he would enjoy mobility in his fingers and toes.

His jaw cracked as he yawned, then changed the direction of his shuffling towards the kitchen.

Jesse pawed through the fridge and pantry, snagging some eggs and butter and various other ingredients.  By the time he was slicing the potatoes into matchsticks, Hanzo had shuffled out of the bedroom with a large robe and a sleepy expression.

“Awake yet, darlin’?” Jesse drawled, teeth flashing white against his brown skin.  The baleful look he received in a clear chastisement of the hour of their existence was almost enough to make him feel bad.

Almost.

“You could’ve stayed asleep,” Jesse needled fondly, rinsing the pile and letting them rest as he continued to slice more vegetables.  “You know I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”

Hanzo headed for his tea, which Jesse had already set brewing, and poured a mug, then shuffled over to where Jesse’s pile of assorted peppers was growing and slumped forward.  His head thunked into Jesse’s shoulder, and though Jesse couldn’t see his face, he couldn’t imagine Hanzo’s eyes were anything but closed.

“Well, I guess that’s an answer,” he chuckled, reaching up to ruffle Hanzo’s hair, doing his best not to jostle him as Jesse cooked.  The potatoes dried, the concoction was mixed and browned, and Hanzo at least seemed to be able to manage to stand on his own two feet without tilting into Jesse.

That is, until he stumbled over to the table and sank into the chair—and what was probably a coma.

Jesse just shook his head, smiling faintly.  Like a cat, Hanzo could pretend to ignore you and be utterly disinterested in your goings-on while remaining in the same room, constantly, even at great disservice to himself.

But Jesse finally finished the bacon, finally topped the hash browns with two fried eggs, and finally sat down across from Hanzo, sliding the plate over.

He had to admit, he watched, kind of fascinated, wondering if Hanzo would nod off into the meal.

But there were no mishaps of the sort, and the two of them sat in companionable silence as they ate.  The hash browns were one of Jesse’s favorite recipes, especially when drenched in runny egg yolk, and he took a unique pleasure in savoring it in the quiet, feet occasionally meeting and tussling with Hanzo’s under the table.

“I do wish,” Hanzo finally sighed, his voice creaky, the first words he had said all morning, “that you would, for once, allow us to sleep in until a regular hour.”

“You don’t gotta get up with me, like I said.”  Once again, he received a disdainful look for his trouble, and he just shook his head, smiling.

Once again, just like a cat.

“Does this mean,” Hanzo began again, still speaking slowly as he sipped his tea, “that you have changed your mind about helping Angela decorate for Christmas?”

Jesse froze, fork midway to his mouth, a chill that had nothing to do with the—

Wait.  The bastard must have changed it on his way out of the bedroom, even in his mostly-asleep state, because Jesse was still freezing.

But still.  Outside, it was even colder, and the idea of trudging through the snow to help Angela decorate for Christmas—generally a week-long affair that left the house absolutely unrecognizable and involved a lot of lugging of multiple trees and wreathes and other heavy things up and down stairs—was not at all appealing, and if Hanzo let it slip that they were free this weekend, Jesse would undoubtedly find himself recruited.  Fareeha could be… persuasive.

“Well,” he finally said slowly, watching Hanzo cautiously, “I guess we could go back to bed for a little bit.”

“Mm.  That is good to hear.”

And Hanzo went right back to sleepily finishing his eggs and hash, the sneaky fucker.

He did, at least, have no problem with adhering to the “one person cooks, one person does the dishes” rule, so Jesse was able to finish his meal at a leisurely place with still enough time to wander back in the direction of the bedroom—and the thermostat.

Twenty-one.  Jesse made a face, reaching out to press the button—

And then just about jumped out of his skin when Hanzo’s hand smacked the back of his wrist.

“Ow!” he yelped, though just out of surprise; the action hadn’t really _hurt_ , just startled him.  He whirled and shot Hanzo an exasperated look.

But Hanzo’s arm snaked out to wrap around Jesse’s waist, and he allowed himself to be led back into the bedroom.

“I will keep you warm,” he murmured, tugging him back into the bed and wrapping around Jesse.

With a resigned sigh, Jesse relaxed into his probably-already-asleep husband, closing his eyes.

The bed was warm enough, he supposed.  And he could complain.  Later.


End file.
